


Goddamned Unprofessional

by kaasknot



Series: Red vs Blue [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: ACAB (even Fox), Anti-clone prejudice, Armor Kink, Blowjobs, Bondage/Restraints, Clonecest, FaceFucking, Guilt, Hatesex, Humiliation kink, Hurt/Comfort, Look their armor is cock cage and CBT all in one. You bet I’m taking advantage, M/M, Mild Boot Worship, Military Fraternization, Pain Kink, Rules Lawyering, Shame, Sub!Fox, Undernegotiated Kink, Working through cognitive dissonance, dubcon, handjobs, touch starvation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:48:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24900319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaasknot/pseuds/kaasknot
Summary: “You indicated you wished to report a dereliction of duty, Commander?” Tarkin’s icy gaze bored through Fox’s helmet.“Yes sir,” Fox said. “Mine.”
Relationships: CT-27-5555 | Fives | ARC-5555/CC-1010 | Fox
Series: Red vs Blue [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1801501
Comments: 16
Kudos: 155
Collections: Banned Together Bingo 2020





	Goddamned Unprofessional

**Author's Note:**

> A note to the Banned Together Bingo mods: I played fast and loose with the "Talking pigs" prompt, choosing to interpret it as police rather than actual pigs.

The old-fashioned chrono in Admiral Tarkin’s office ticked against the silence. Fox stood at parade rest, waiting. Opposite him, General Skywalker was leaning his hip against Tarkin’s desk, his arms crossed, looking irritated. Tarkin himself was seated between them, his expression impassive and vaguely sour. He always looked like that, for all six months that Fox had known him. He was a rising star in the Navy, selected personally by the Chancellor; with ambition like his, Fox didn’t expect Tarkin would remain head of the RAJ for much longer.

The silence in the room stretched.

“He’ll be here,” Skywalker said, answering a question no one had asked. “He probably had trouble getting a ride.”

Fox doubted that. ARC-5555, “Fives,” hadn’t earned his pauldrons by accident. And the day an ARC trooper didn’t bypass traffic through unlawful and disruptive means would be the day Fox’s workload was cut in half. But. It wouldn’t hurt if he was a _little_ faster. Nervous sweat was pooling in the small of Fox’s back, and anxiety gnawed at his gut.

Tarkin acknowledged Skywalker with a sour nod. “Traffic certainly can be unpleasant when the Senate is in session.”

Skywalker subsided, frowning mightily at the door.

Fox gripped his hands behind his back to keep them from trembling. Would they send him to a penal battalion? Or worse, back to Kamino for reconditioning? The worst he’d ever sentenced a fellow clone to for indiscretions of this nature was confinement to barracks, and once to repeat Basic Training, since he’d clearly forgotten cadet-level regulations. But Fox was a CC. He was the commanding officer of law enforcement for the entire GAR; if he came down hard on his men, then his own indiscretions should be punished twice as hard.

He forced his breathing to remain regular and calm. His personal feelings had no place in the pursuit of justice.

Finally, the door opened and Fives walked in, helmet under his arm and a grim, set expression on his face. When he saw Fox, that expression cracked a little—before firming up again into a professional blank. He approached the desk, went to attention, and gave a regulation-perfect salute. “Admiral. General. Commander.”

“Took your time, Fives,” Skywalker said testily.

“Traffic, sir. It’s getting out of hand.”

Fox shuddered beneath a rush of heat through his entire body. It was absurd. Fives was a clone, he sounded exactly like every other clone—except for how he didn’t. Fox clenched his teeth and ignored the influx of memories in the back of his mind: the slip of that voice against his audio pickups, the cold press of a codpiece against Fox’s heated cock—

“Now, I believe we may begin,” Admiral Tarkin said in his crisp, Coruscanti accent. Fox focused on that to keep from thinking about Fives. Tarkin was from Eriadu; his accent had to have been learned, because they didn’t speak like the Coruscanti upper crust on Eriadu. Probably the product of his political ambitions. Senators and birther brass would snub or support each other over the smallest, most inconsequential things, from how they spoke to which shops they patronized. Fox knew them all—it was his job to be able to follow the prevailing winds of the elite—but for the life of him he couldn’t see why any of it mattered.

“You indicated you wished to report a dereliction of duty, Commander?”

Tarkin’s icy gaze bored through Fox’s helmet, and Fox had to remind himself the man wasn’t actually a Jedi.

“Yes sir,” he said. “Mine.”

Tarkin’s gaze flicked from Fox, to Fives, to Skywalker, then back to Fox. “I see.”

Fox made himself place the holoprojector on Tarkin’s desk. It started up, and grainy, helmet cam footage of himself grinding into Fives’s armor played in one-fifth scale for all present to see.

Fives sucked in a sharp breath.

“Okay!” General Skywalker said very loudly, and the holoprojector switched off by itself. “Saw enough of that!”

Fox kept his gaze on the traffic flowing past Tarkin’s window. “I surrender myself for judgment on the charges of absence without leave, failure to obey a lawful order or regulation, dereliction of duty, cruelty and maltreatment, indecent exposure, and conduct unbecoming an officer.”

If there had been an article for perversion Fox would have added that to the list, but there wasn’t. He’d checked.

He glanced at everyone’s faces. Fives was goggling at him in wide-eyed shock; General Skywalker had a pinched expression of discomfort, the color high on his cheeks; Tarkin looked disgusted.

Tarkin turned to Fives. “Sergeant, did you consent freely?”

“Yes, sir,” Fives croaked.

“Is Commander Fox coercing you in any way to ensure you reply in that manner?”

“No, sir.”

Tarkin looked to Skywalker, who nodded. 

He turned and skewered Fox with the full weight of his displeasure. “Commander, I was under the impression that you requested this meeting for a serious matter.” He gave the slightest emphasis on “serious.”

Fox hesitated. “I—I engaged in perverse behaviors while neglecting my post, I—”

“For God’s sake,” Tarkin interrupted. “If you must insist on this sordid self-flagellation, you may be placed on suspension for a week for dereliction and wasting my time. I hope that satisfies. General, I trust you can handle your own man.”

“Yes. Thank you, Admiral.”

Tarkin returned his gimlet gaze to Fox. “Is that all?”

“Yes, sir.” Fox felt like he’d been socked in the stomach.

“Dismissed.”

Fox didn’t stumble, because the Commander of the Republic Guard did not stumble. He collected his holoprojector and followed Fives and Skywalker out of Tarkin’s office.

As soon as the doors closed behind them, Skywalker rounded on Fives. “Seriously? _Seriously?_ You couldn’t have kept it in your armor _one_ time?”

Fives looked back and forth between Skywalker and Fox, gaping. “I—I _did!_ ”

“Just—” Skywalker pinched the bridge of his nose. “Stop making me look at dicks, okay, Fives? Please?”

Fives leveled a glare at Fox. “It wasn’t my intent, sir.”

“Yeah, I gathered that. Next time be less of an idiot. For both our sakes.” With that, Skywalker strode away, shaking his head and muttering to himself.

Fox stared down at the holoprojector, unsure what had happened. He looked up, and Fives was still glaring.

“Something you need, Sergeant?”

“You _hacked_ my _helmet cams_.”

“I have the jurisdiction.”

“That's not the _point!_ What the hell was that?” Fives waved a hand toward Tarkin’s closed door.

Fox was glad for his helmet. Glad Fives couldn’t see his uncertainty and confusion. “What we did was wrong. It had to be addressed.”

“Who says it's wrong?” Fives demanded. “You just had a decorated general and the damn AG of the RAJ shrug it off, who _says_ it's wrong?”

 _“You know what **I** heard? I heard clones fuck each other. How messed up do you have to be to fuck your own brother?_”

 _“Oh my god, I asked if you had any previous partners, not if you were a pervert! Fucking cops, you should all be arrested!_ ”

 _“Any idea what happened to them?”— “Group of birthers found them blowing off steam in an alleyway. Decided to make an issue of it._ ”

 _“I would of course never share such an indiscretion, Fox. We all have our weak moments, when base desires take over. But we mustn’t let it distract from our duty._ ”

Fox turned without a word and started down the hall. There was too much that didn't make sense. He needed to think.

“Hey! Hey, I asked you a question!”

Fox ignored him. Even without the humiliation of the meeting chewing at his thoughts, Fives was an irritant and a distraction. His superiors had apparently decided that—that what they had done wasn't a crime, but Fox couldn't reconcile that with his experience. He needed to _think_.

Fives grabbed his arm. “Stop running away, you sithspitting _pig!_ ”

Fox spun to face him. “Out of line, Sergeant!”

“Permission to speak freely, _sir_.” Fives was livid.

“Permission denied,” Fox snarled.

“Fuck you anyway,” Fives snarled back.

“Disrespecting a superior officer. _Five_ days in the brig.”

“Shove it up your ass. I haven’t even _begun_ to disrespect you, you dickhead.” He barked a sharp laugh. “You already fuck your brothers over, and you don’t even have the courtesy to give them a reacharound.” 

Their voices were rising; Fox paused for a moment to take stock. The last thing he wanted in the entirety of the galaxy was to listen to Fives talk, but he knew Fives wouldn't let up until he had his say, and they were in a public hallway. “My office,” he finally said, before turning on his heel and resuming his pace.

Fives swore under his breath before following.

There had been a fair amount of rumbling from the senior brass when Fox had been given an office in Navy HQ. A lot of them didn't like the idea of clones infiltrating their hallowed halls; but the point remained that Fox _wasn’t_ GAR, he was Republic Guard, and his CO was supervisor of Naval law enforcement and adjudication. It was inefficient in the extreme to expect either one of them to brave Coruscant’s worst skylanes multiple times a day just because a few of the old guard thought Fox ought to be segregated away.

They’d still given him one of the worst offices. Not _the_ worst, Thire’s Lieutenant Dak had that honor, but certainly nowhere near the palatial, skyline view that Tarkin enjoyed.

Fox didn't especially care. Windows were a distraction, and he didn't need hand-knotted rugs imported from the ass-end of Altora to prove he was in charge. But it was small, and Fives’s presence was that much more immediate when they stepped inside.

Fives made to set his helmet down, then paused. “Are you gonna hack my cams again?”

“Are you going to commit any crimes?” Fox replied sharply, feeling off-center and fluttery. He moved around to sit at his desk to put some distance between them.

Fives set his helmet down with a solid thunk. “Haven't committed any crimes, sir.”

“Trespassing, failure to obey a lawful order or regulation, dereliction of duty—”

“I’ll cop to trespassing, but a senior officer in the RG was present at the time, sir, and he saw fit not to detain me.” Fives’s gaze was implacable.

Helpless fury rose in Fox’s chest. “You distracted me!”

“That's bantha fodder, sir, it's not even good enough to be bantha _shit_. If it had been a serious crime, one you didn't doubt, then it wouldn't have been a problem. But you're not actually sure it was a crime at all, are you.”

Fox’s hands clenched against the edge of his desk. “Yes, I am.”

Fives came around the side of the desk, blocking Fox’s exit to loom over him. “Then charge me, sir. I’m right here. You want a confession? I fucked around with Rear Marshal Commander Fox and got a paintjob to show for it.”

Fox said nothing, his breathing tense and loud as his helmet reflected it back to him.

“ _Charge me_.”

Something was going to happen. Fox didn't know what, didn't want to look at it too closely, but he was right on the edge of blowing a gasket and if Fives said one more word—

Fives put a hand on Fox’s desk and leaned into his space. “Charge me, Commander.”

He moved so fast his mind didn't follow. One minute he was sitting stiffly in his chair, the next his helmet was off and he’d pressed Fives against the far wall and he was—he was kissing him—

It was the most violent kiss Fox had ever participated in. He couldn't say that was entirely his fault, either, because Fives bit back just as hard, and his grip on Fox’s cuirass was so tight his knuckles dug into Fox’s armpits. Fox pressed in as close as he could, grinding their breastplates together. If he could just get close enough he could smother Fives and his fucking _voice_ and he wouldn’t have to listen to him anymore, just rip off his armor and—

Clarity returned like a blow to the head. Fox stumbled back, pressing his hand to his mouth, but it did nothing to block the sense memory of Fives’s lips against his. Or the tingling weight building low in Fox’s belly.

Fives stayed where he was, panting and leaning back against the wall of Fox’s dingy, cramped office. His eyes glittered. “Got a lot pent up, brother.”

Fox couldn't look at him. He could barely stand being in his own skin; if he could just—cease to _be_ , at least until the searing humiliations of this fucking day had faded. He breathed, in and out, and his body hummed at Fives’s nearness.

What was wrong with him, that he wanted this? Why didn't anyone care that it was immoral?

Except people _did_ care. Fox _knew_ they cared, he'd stopped talking about his sexual history when he went out, because it never ended well. If he could just undo his past, make it so he’d never touched his batchers, so they’d never touched him—they’d been curious, horny kids, for Fett’s sake, how could they have known? If Fives had just left him alone—

“What's wrong?” Fives’s hand came down on his arm.

Fox flung it off. “Don’t _fucking_ touch me!”

Fives stepped back, his hands raised, just like he had in the security booth. The line of his throat was perfectly highlighted by Fox’s desk lamp. His pulse was jumping, the skin above his blacks smooth and tempting. Fox tore his gaze away, leaning his hands against his desk in abject frustration.

“What’s _wrong_ ,” he spat, “is that I can’t _forget_.”

Fives didn't say anything for a moment, but the creak of his armor as he shifted his weight was deafening. “Do you want to?”

Fox stared at the paperwork scattered over his desk. He'd jerked off more times in the past two days than in the entire week before. The hot burn of shame only made him harder, only made it more compelling. He’d dreamed the night before that Fives was fucking him, and he’d woken up halfway through soiling the sheets like he was a trigger-happy cadet again. 

No. Even though he should, he didn't want to forget.

He hung his head in shame.

This time, when Fives laid his hand on Fox’s shoulder, Fox didn’t shake him off. Fives gently pried him up to face him. “Why’s it so bad?” he asked, his voice different from the harsh tone he'd used in the hall. “We had a good time, the officers don’t care, so why get this twisted about it?”

Fox swallowed heavily. “It's not fair,” he finally admitted. “To the men I punished for—for this.” He straightened up, the picture of dignity if not the substance of it. “I’m the Commander of the Republic Guard. I cannot be above the law.”

He let himself look at Fives. There was something so unbearably attractive about him, something in the way he carried himself, in the way his expressions differed from any of the hundreds of clones Fox had interacted with before. Fox looked, and not even shame could make him look away.

Fives looked… thoughtful. He ran his fingers over the edge of Fox’s desk, his lower lip caught between his teeth. When he looked up at Fox, it was speculatively. “Were they officers?”

A shiver ran down Fox’s spine. “Who?”

“The men you punished for fucking each other.”

“No, but I don't see—”

“Transfer me to Deka Barracks, I’ll smooth it over for you.”

Fox frowned. “How? And more importantly, _why_?”

Fives shrugged, his pauldrons shifting like wings. “ARC secrets. And…” He looked up at Fox through his lashes, coy and predatory all at once. “Maybe I’m interested in a little quid pro quo. _Commander_.”

Fox’s whole body flushed hot, his skin going prickly and hyperaware of the weight of his plates. He swallowed in a throat gone dry. “Article 124b. states that—”

“Jango’s fucking _bones_ , you literal-minded toolbox!” Fives threw his whole body into rolling his eyes. “Half of those articles don't even apply to us, we’re not legally sapient!”

He wasn’t wrong. Only a handful of the Punitive Articles applied to clones, who didn’t actually see a court martial even if they broke them. The rest were for the non-clones in the Republic Navy, Starfighter Corps, and Reserve Artillery Defense Corps, who had, unlike clones, representation under the law.

But they were all Fox had. Justice was absolute, it had to be. It may not be wrong for him and Fives to… fraternize, but that didn’t make it _just_.

“Wait,” Fives said slowly, a terrifying gleam coming into his eye. “I think I know what this is.”

Fox kept still, watching Fives like he might a feral stratt on an underlevels patrol.

“Maybe that underfed shark in a suit was right, maybe this is about you getting punished.”

“Obviously,” Fox said, slowly, in case Fives’s brain had bled out his ears. “If you commit a crime, then punishment follows.”

“But there _is_ no crime, I’m pretty sure we’ve buried that eopie well over six feet down.” Fives’s gaze skewered Fox. “At least, not for the one you want to be punished for.”

Fox’s heart was pounding. “You're not making sense.”

“I know, I know.” Fives patted Fox’s breastplate patronizingly. “Checking your blind spots is hard.”

Fox reached up to brush him away, but Fives jerked his arm down. By the time he was aware of the binders trapping his hands behind his back, Fives had already kicked his knee out from under him, and he clattered to the floor.

Immediately, he surged to his feet. Or tried to; a hand on the back of his neck shoved him back down. “What do you think,” Fives said in his ear. “Assaulting a superior officer?”

Fox checked his belt, but sure enough, it was missing one set of military-grade stuncuffs. “How did you get my binders!”

“Advanced skillset,” Fives said, waggling his fingers in front of Fox’s face. “Palmed them when you kissed me. Always wanted a set of CG binders, you never know when something like that’ll come in handy.”

“You fucking—” Fox tried to get to his feet again, jerking uselessly at the durasteel binding his wrists, but Fives knocked him down again. Fury boiled Fox alive. “You fucking _bastard!_ This is a reconditioning offence, Sergeant!”

“Only if I’m charged, sir.” Fives tugged off his gloves one finger at a time, right under Fox’s nose. “Only. If. I’m. Charged.”

Then he laid his hand against Fox’s bare cheek, and everything changed. His body heat seared through Fox’s nerves, flaying them open. He’d turned into Fives’s hand before he’d even realized it, hungry for more skin-on-skin in a way he’d never been hungry for food.

“Easy, sir. Don’t forget to breathe.”

He was hyperventilating. Somehow through the dizziness, Fox narrowed in on it. _Hyperventilating depletes the body of oxygen, cadet. Master yourself_. He tried, forcing himself to hold his breath before letting it out, focusing on the gentle press of Fives’s hand to ground himself.

Little Gods, why was Fives being so gentle? Why was Fox _trembling_?

“Shhh,” Fives said, running his hand through Fox’s hair, and never mind the whimper Fox made. “I know what you need, Commander.” He stepped over Fox’s knees until he was standing in front of him, then drew Fox in until his face was resting against his plackart.

It had been years since Fox had been this close to a fellow clone. Years since he’d been this vulnerable to _anyone_. Something small and plaintive inside him rolled over and bared its belly; dignitiy of an officer be damned, the only thing Fox wanted was Fives’s hands on him.

One of those hands kept stroking at Fox’s hair, sending waves of goosebumps over his skin, but the other slipped down the back of Fox’s blacks, skin against _fucking_ skin, and Fox gave a reedy, hungry moan as he arched into it.

“I’m here,” Fives said, his voice distant and tender. “I’m not going anywhere.” He pressed down against Fox’s neck, digging fingers into muscle, and it wasn’t until Fox’s hips rocked forward that he realized he was hard. He sighed raggedly against Fives’s belly plates, his breath gusting back at him hot and moist.

For a while, it was just that. Just Fives’s hands in Fox’s hair, against his ears, down the back of his neck; just skin and gentle touch, and a lack of judgment when Fox pressed against his armor like a weakling. Fives didn’t make an issue of it, and Fox would have cried for it if he’d been in his right mind. He stopped tugging against the binders. He just _was_.

Eventually, though, the ache in his knees made itself known. The ache in his _cock_ made itself known, and worst of all, the sting of shame reared its ugly, mortifying head. Fox went stiff beneath Fives’s hands, unwilling to accept that he’d bared so much to a rule-breaking, arrogant, cavalier ARC sergeant.

Above him, Fives snorted. “Too much to hope it would last.”

“Disrespecting a superior officer, assaulting a superior officer, abandoning your duty station—”

“Is quoting regs all you ever do?” Fives wondered aloud, and Fox would have ripped his fucking legs off, but Fives’s hand tightened in Fox’s hair until he had to subside.

“I’m head of the MPs,” he gritted out. Of course he fucking knew regs, of course he knew how and when to apply them.

“Fett’s sake,” Fives muttered to the ceiling. “And when you're _off_ -duty, do you shoot the shit with your troops? Or is it all regs, all the time?”

“I’m _head_ of the fucking _Republic Guard_ ,” Fox said again, because for all that was holy, didn't this idiot understand how a chain of command worked? 

“What about other CCs? I know you have a hidey-hole somewhere on this rock.”

Fox kept his mouth shut, unwilling to share the unspoken but unmistakable ostracism he was given by his supposed peers. It wasn't any of Fives's business.

Fives’s expression went a little sad, but his grip didn't slacken. He did go to his knees, however, in a silken, practiced move that only came from years of practice in maneuvering in heavy armor.

He sighed. “You’re a pain in my ass, sir.”

Fox didn't reply; he was too aware of how close they were like this, how well Fives sported his goatee, how easily he'd gotten the drop on him, and how, if Fox wasn't so embarrassed by it all, he’d be genuinely impressed. 

Fives just sat there for a long moment, his grip on Fox’s hair gentling, and Fox was one entire prickle of apprehension.

Then Fives spoke. “Guess it's lonely, being the head of the RG.”

That—Fox couldn't tolerate that. Couldn't _stand_ the condescension and pity. He headbutted Fives with extreme prejudice. 

“Karking— _dickhead!_ ”

“Keep your pity,” Fox snarled.

“Right,” Fives snapped through his reflexive tears, surging back to his feet and yanking Fox’s hair. “Don’t want kindness, so you must want it to hurt, huh?” He twisted his handful of hair, till Fox winced. “Is that it, Fox? Do you want to _suffer_?”

Before Fox could formulate a reply, Fives was already heaving himself back to his feet. The snap of the magclamps on his codpiece releasing were gunshot-loud in the space between them.

Fives’s eyes were bright and spiteful. “You're a colossal dick, sir, so I’ve decided I’m gonna feed you mine.”

Fox’s jaw dropped. He looked up from the swell of Fives’s blacks in utter shock. “That’s—”

“If you bite, it’s cruelty and maltreatment of a subordinate,” Fives replied, cutting him off. “I’ll give you one minute to make up your mind.”

His hand vanished from Fox’s hair. 

Fox gaped up at him. Words failed completely. He dropped his gaze to Fives’s crotch, soft and vulnerable between the halves of his kama, and close as he was, Fox couldn’t help but notice the swelling bulge of his cock.

“Chrono’s ticking,” Fives said, his voice gritty.

Fox imagined it. Imagined opening wide and sucking Fives’s cock down. He’d been with other people, sucked other cocks, but they’d mostly been civilians. One time had been a non-clone in the Republic Navy. Fox didn’t like thinking about him.

He’d never sucked off one of his brothers, before. He stared at the outline of Fives’s cock, at the little patch of moisture soaked into his blacks, and he swallowed past the lump in his throat. He didn’t think he was going to leave. Fett help him, he didn’t think he was. He looked back up, and the guilt had to have been written across his face, because Fives didn’t even finish the full minute; he just reached out and fisted a handful of Fox’s hair and hauled him down. He pressed Fox’s face against the hard ridge of his cock, hot as a blaster barrel even through the layer of syntech nanoprene.

“No backing down now, sir,” he said, his voice low and dark. “You’ve made your choice.”

Fox let out a shaky breath. He couldn’t figure out what words _were_ , let alone what to say. He had to hunker down to reach, spread his legs like—like a cock-hungry brother who couldn’t keep his codpiece on. The tops of his cuisses dug into his hips.

He’d never—he wasn’t like this. He didn’t give up control so easily. He was a _marshal commander_ , no matter that the appointment had been pushed for by the Chancellor; he was trained to command. He was a _leader_ , not some line CT who couldn’t shoot straight without an order from on high. _Why_ was he yielding so easily? What was wrong with him?

Those thoughts didn’t stay long in his mind. Fives reached down with his other hand and pulled apart the seals for his flies. His cock fell out, thick and heavy and dark with blood, and Fox quivered in his grip. It looked jarringly like his own, and that was a fucking _thrill_. He looked up.

Color had risen high in Fives’s cheeks. He lowered his thumb toward the hinge in Fox’s jaw, pushing in ever so gently. Just enough to promise. Or threaten.

Fox dutifully opened his mouth, feeling like he was somewhere outside of himself. His body acted without his input, his sense of duty cowering in horror in the back of his mind; but his skin was too tight all over, and he was suddenly desperate for the weight of Fives’s cock on his tongue.

Rationally, it was just a cock. Not the first Fox had had in his mouth, hopefully not the last. But as he swiped his tongue over the head, tasting the first beads of precome, he couldn’t stop thinking: _This is my **brother’s** cock_.

“There you go,” Fives said, his voice scraping the gutters of the clone register. “Open wide like you’re paid for it.”

Fox shuddered. He’d busted prostitutes more than once; officially it was illegal on Coruscant, but certain districts were controlled by other planetary laws, and it was allowed there, albeit with heavy regulation. There were always streetwalkers, though. Fox regarded them with a sense of embarrassed pity. Didn’t they know they could catch a bus three districts over and find work with one of the unions?

The thought that Fives had bought and paid for him… it crossed wires in his mind. He _had_ been bought and paid for, and it wasn’t something he liked thinking about, for reasons he didn’t like examining. But Fives had also been bought with hard Republic credit, and it—it was different. He swallowed, suctioning around Fives’s shaft, hot all over at the thought of being a streetwalker that Fives’s had picked up on a whim.

He closed his eyes, shuddering. At the thought of breaking the law.

“Can’t claim you’re not a brotherfucker now,” Fives said above him. “You know what they say, once is an anomaly, but twice is a trend.”

Fox clenched his hands into fists, to keep them from trembling.

“You gonna take this to Tarkin, too? Keep escalating it until he finally throws you in a cell? Until he whips you through the streets like an old-school heretic?

“Maybe you’d like that,” Fives said, switching tack. “No, I think you’d _love_ it. Look at you, you’re so fucking guilty right now, but you’re still sucking like hard vacuum.”

He was. Gods help him, Fox was sucking Fives down like he was clean water ten days into SERE. He leaned away from the hand holding his hair, and the sting of it was the sweetest fucking pain Fox had ever felt. 

“You can’t even make yourself admit you like this, can you? Only a _pervert_ would get so hot for his own brother. Must be fucked in the head.”

He was. He was so fucked. But he was so wired on adrenaline and the filth falling from Fives’s mouth that it didn’t even fucking matter.

Fives shifted his weight and laid the tip of his boot against Fox’s codpiece. Fox froze.

“Are you hard, Commander?” Fives asked softly.

His hands had gentled on Fox’s head. Brushing through his hair. Smoothing over his ears. It was completely at odds with the slow pressure he put against Fox’s codpiece. “You’re a waste of cell clippings,” Fives said. “What would Jango think, to see you debase yourself like this in front of a brother?”

Jango wouldn’t think anything. He’d never thought about the clones, save one. Fox didn’t even know why they swore to him; it had started out as a joke, but it had spread, and before long they were all saying it. _Fett’s sake_. Look at you, proving yourself a pervert. Jango’s bones, what a shame you are to the uniform.

Fox couldn’t countenance it. Couldn’t fathom why hearing Fives say it, why even just thinking it himself, made sparks shoot up and down his spine. But it felt _good_. He was worthless; he deserved it. 

“I’d make you lick my boots, since you already do it professionally.” Fives pressed his foot down like he was gunning engines on a swoop bike. Fox’s squeal was muffled around the cock in his mouth.

Fives hissed, holding his head steady, then made a slow, inexorable push to the back of Fox’s throat until Fox’s gag reflex triggered. “Fuck,” he breathed as Fox recovered, panting and drooling, his eyes fluttering.

Fox was on fire. His groin was a solid weight of hurt and pain and _more_ ; his jaw was starting to ache. His knees hurt against the crappy carpeted floor of his office. It was _good_. The Adjutant-General had seen fit not to punish him save for a slap on the wrist, but this, this pain, it satisfied a need Fox hadn’t even known he’d had.

How had _Fives_ known?

“Keep your mouth open,” Fives said. “Gonna use it, ‘cause that’s all you’re good for, Fox. When it comes right down to it, at least you can _useful_.”

Fox sobbed, wrenched deep from his soul. Fives hesitated, his thrust stuttering a stillborn death, but Fox lurched forward, impaling himself face-first. He—he needed it, needed to be useful, even if it was just for this. He was so far beyond himself he was driven down to base need.

Deeper than his need to uphold the law, deeper than his need to maintain discipline, deeper than his need to uphold the office of the Chancellor.

He needed his brothers. He suppressed his gag reflex and swallowed Fives as far as he could—not far enough, he couldn’t take all of him, he wasn’t _enough_ —but Fives’s hands gentled him. Pulled him back.

Fox didn’t _want_ gentleness, he wanted it to _hurt_. He hated himself for wanting things he shouldn’t; he was supposed to be cold and distant and untouchable, not this needy wreck. He didn’t want to enjoy it, but he couldn’t help it, so he wanted it to _hurt_. He yanked against the binders, but they’d held against stronger perps than him. 

“Right,” Fives said in a shaky voice. His grip shifted, and then his thumbs were digging into the pressure points behind Fox’s jaw, cradling the back of his head while driving his thumbs into Fox’s parotid salivary gland. Fox’s jaw fell open, almost whiting out at the pain.

Reality fell away. He didn’t notice if Fives said anything else; there was only the the shocks of pain from Fives’s thumbs, or the nudging of his boot against Fox’s trapped cock, or rough thrusts against the back of Fox’s throat. He couldn’t do anything but take it. So he took it.

“I’m close,” Fives said, penetrating the fog around Fox’s mind. He hesitated audibly, but then drove on. “You’re gonna swallow it all.”

It wasn’t a request. It wasn’t a threat. It was a statement of what would happen, without allowance for other possibilities. Fox leaned into his certainty. The choice was out of his hands.

In the end, Fives made it easy. He shoved back until Fox was reduced to compulsively swallowing to keep from bringing up bile, and then suddenly swallowing was easier. It was lubricated. And bitter. Fox’s entire body seized up at the knowledge that Fives was coming down his throat, but he couldn’t stop swallowing. He was right on the edge of coming, too.

He kept swallowing as Fives’s erection waned, as though if he just sucked hard enough it might throw himself into orgasm, too.

“Stop, stop,” Fives said, but he had to pull Fox off him, his cock flopping heavily out of his mouth, before Fox would listen. Fox looked up at him, his face burning and his vision blurry, and he shuddered. He’d never been so violently _seen_ before. He couldn’t look away.

Fives just looked back down at him, and his hands were so gentle on Fox’s skin. “Good job,” he said.

It didn’t matter that he sounded a little awkward saying it. Fox closed his eyes and shook. He shook like a shiny on his first battlefield, because that’s all he wanted: to be good. His eyes were hot, and he felt Fives wiping away tears.

Then Fives was lowering himself down to his knees again. Then Fox’s codpiece loosened, and Fives soothed his pained whimper. “I’m gonna take care of this for you,” he said, his hand pulling Fox out of his blacks, and after the rough treatment, this gentleness was almost more pain than Fox could bear. He didn’t—he didn’t deserve it—

“Shh, shh,” Fives said, tucking Fox’s cheek against his. “I’ve got you.” He took up just the right amount of pressure—Fox had never had a partner who’d gotten it so perfectly, exactly right the first time—and slowly jacked him until his hips were rocking up and small, desperate sounds were falling out of his mouth. It took hardly any time at all.

“Gonna come on my armor again?” Fives murmured in his ear. “Gonna stripe up my 501st blue with some RG white?”

Fox could only gasp in reply. _Yes_ , every part of him screamed. _Don’t go. Stay. Mine_.

Fives picked up the pace, squelching through Fox’s precome. The stretch and release of his foreskin, that tiny, barely-there almost-pain, goaded him on; but he didn’t hit the point of no return until the thought of Fives stepping on his bare cock the way he’d stepped on his codpiece sprang fully-formed into his mind. His breath choked away, and then he was coming, spurting over Fives’s armor in heavy spasms.

 _Don’t leave_ , pleaded a voice that sounded appallingly like himself as a cadet. He’d have clung to Fives if he could have, but his hands were bound; his breathing sped up, and never mind the orgasm. Terror rose up from somewhere so deep inside him he couldn’t even name it, terror that Fives would leave him to rot in his shame and humiliation, a blight on the entire army—

“I’m here, I’m here,” Fives said, his voice calm, but his expression shaken. He snapped loose the binders, casting them aside, and eased Fox’s arms forward, his hands strong but so bafflingly gentle. It was all Fox could do just to rest his forehead on Fives’s ARC pauldron, wishing for skin.

Fox didn’t know how long they knelt like that, dicks out and armor in disarray. Finally, he relaxed. Fives wasn’t leaving.

Eventually, whatever emotional fugue that had come over him faded, and he was reminded of all the aches in his body—and all the tender spots in his emotions. He pulled back from Fives, looking away. Fives sighed. The hands that had been carding through Fox’s hair fell back to his lap.

Fox brushed his own hands through his hair, then collected his codpiece and binders, putting himself back together. Fives did nothing, staying on his knees with his soft dick poking out from between the halves of his kama, and watched as Fox re-armored himself figuratively and literally.

Fox didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what to say.

Finally, Fives spoke. “The 501st is shipping out in a couple of days.”

“I know.” As if Fox hadn’t planned today’s meeting exactly around that fact. 

Fives exhaled sharply, then grabbed a fistful of tissues off Fox’s desk and started wiping himself down. “Don’t get all broken up about it, or anything.”

Fox fumbled his helmet. He couldn’t look at Fives. He’d never been so vulnerable to another person in his life; he felt small and terrified. “Please go.”

The look of shock on Fives face made Fox’s guts liquify with shared hurt. He looked away to spare himself. “I’ll comm you my address,” he said in a rush, before he could talk himself out of it. “If. If you have time.”

Fives took hold of Fox’s cuirass and reeled him in with a happy, relieved smile. “ _When_ ,” he growled into Fox’s ear. “Don’t wind me up like that, you asswipe.”

“Get off,” Fox said, batting him away. “ _If_. We both know better than to make promises for the future.”

Fives’s smile faltered, and Fox felt like the world’s worst heel, but then it flickered and Fives was back to smirking at him. 

“Last chance to throw me in the brig, sir. Sure you don’t want to have your way with me up against the wall when I refuse to comply?” 

“It’s against regs to have sex with prisoners.” Fox shoved his bucket down over his blush.

Fives snorted, but it was… almost fondly. “Of course that’s what you’d say.”

“Fives, get out of my office.”

He threw off a jaunty salute. “See you in two months, Commander Fox. Or maybe sooner.” He winked, and then he was gone.

The office was so much smaller and emptier without him in it. Fox tried to hold himself back, make some attempt at pride, but he barely managed half an hour before he was sending on his details. The obscene string of glyphs he got in reply kept him smiling all through the rest of the day’s paperwork.

Goddamned unprofessional.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay! Second part down! For those curious, [this thread](https://kaasknot.tumblr.com/post/620558253715324928/gar-organizational-structure-with-bonus-despair) has most of my worldbuilding for Fox’s job, a lot of which is extra-canonical or contradicts canon.


End file.
